


Jason & Tim, the Romatic Fumblings of

by Ladelle



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:35:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6516934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladelle/pseuds/Ladelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles that center around Jason and Tim and their slow-burn dance of a relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Never Alone on New Years

Tim resigned himself to sitting on the ledge of the building, half tucked behind a gargoyle and half smothered in shadow. His legs dangled over the edge and his cape caught the bigger gusts of snow-blown wind that swept through the city, tossing bits of snow into the mix of confetti that fluttered about below.

“Happy New Year,” Tim whispered to himself prematurely. There were still about ten minutes before the final countdown would begin, and the crowd was starting to look less like writhing patchwork and more like a vibrant blanket, stationary as families found their places and stood, rooted.

During this one day of the year, Gotham was alive. There was laughter and music, and Tim almost wished he could paint the way the colors of the crowd bled together, like one big firework of its own; a mural across the center-street of the city.

It was a breathtaking sight, but enjoying it alone grated away at the magic.

“And seriously, I’m freezing,” Tim mumbled to himself. He blew a tiny snowflake away from his face and his cheeks felt sore and red, even from beneath his cowl. He sighed and kicked his legs up, bored only because he knew where he wanted to be, and it wasn’t bringing in the new year alone on a rooftop with a gargoyle for company.

Tim spoke at the statue conversationally. “You spend New Year’s with the people you love, right? And I do love Gotham. But…” He glanced down at the crowds, hoping to feel renewed, only to laugh at himself and pat the gargoyle on its sloping back. “I sound like Batman, don’t I? I guess it’s not like I really had any place to be tonight…“

A beeping noise from his watch informed Tim that there were only two minutes until the final countdown.

The cement exterior of the building was freezing even through his gloves, but Tim pushed himself up regardless. He brushed snow from his uniform and inspected the celebrators for any hint of crime, though he knew in his gut that there wouldn’t be any.

While the city was cold and white-washed, its center was a weaving mass of joy.

The last minute came. Tim unconsciously stood on the balls of his feet, like he always did, and watched the clock. His lips moved with every second, his tongue silently forming each number. He thought of all the things he’d accomplished over the past year and everything he wanted to change for the next.

The ten second countdown began and a noise caught him by surprise, and as he whipped around, strong fingers caught his wrist and soft lips warmed his own.

Through wide eyes, Tim saw Jason and tried to speak, but the mouth against his own only moved faster and more expertly, and Tim was lost more to the sensation than the confusion and surprise.

When they pulled apart, Tim’s breath escaped in pluming clouds, and Jason was grinning, his blue eyes bright as the world exploded into song beneath them, and blinding colors high above.

"Happy New Year, baby bird.”


	2. of Caffeine & Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confession comes when Jason least expects it.

“You’re telling me that after three of those energy drinks, you’re still cold? Isn’t your heart pounding a mile a minute?”  
  
Tim leans forward as if he thinks that Jason might be able to feel his pulse in the fractured space between them.  
  
“It’s not really the caffeine that gets my heart racing, you know,” he says, eyes flickering upward. Coal-colored lashes frame glacier blue eyes and Jason feels, for a moment, like his voice might come out raspier than usual.  
  
“I’d think not. You’re obviously desensitized,” he states, wondering when the wind had begun to pick up, if it planned on getting worse. “Caffeine doesn’t work on you anymore.”  
  
Tim’s lips press together and Jason wonders what smug comment is hiding behind them; Tim only ever chews his lower lip when he’s using his better judgement to keep himself out of trouble.   
  
Whatever thought had crossed his mind, Tim simply amends it to: “I guess it’s a good thing you work on me then, right?”  
  
It’s an odd comment, some dreamlike combination of words.   
  
Tim isn’t _obvious_ about things, he’s all quiet looks and cryptic texts - and seeing light spill over him from a hazy-hued street lamp makes Jason think that, for some reason, this moment matters, and that whatever he says next is key.

“I’m not good at decoding,” Jason feels the words come from someplace deeper than expected; feels the change in his mood, a weary traveler on a long road. Tim’s cheeks are rosy and it’s not from the cold, it’s embarrassment, hope, and that same damn stubborn resilience that Jason finds he admires just as much as he hates.   
  
“If you’re asking for something,” Jason goes on, “you’re going to have to just say it.”  
  
It’s not quite what Tim wants, that much is apparent. This all started with Tim sliding his hands up the narrow holes of Jason’s jacket sleeves, and now Jason feels the clamminess on Tim’s palms, watches Tim swallow, adam’s apple bobbing.  
  
“I’m saying that I like you.”  
  
Even if Jason suspected it, the confession is wholly different coming from Tim’s lips, each words carefully crafted by a tongue Jason’s been desperate to taste. He realizes, with the way the world slows, with the way his blood chugs sluggishly through his veins, that this is a moment he’s been waiting for, and simultaneously thought would never come.  
  
How many times had they danced around each other, nimbly dodging any intent with clever words and slippery banter, flickering glances from scarce distances, all for this to happen now - _now,_ smothered in tendrils of Gotham fog, headlights hazing the overpass above them, cold seawater-salt licking at their skin.  
  
Jason thinks about laughing it off. He could, and Tim would let him get away with it. More jokes, one more round of finger-gun puns, of incessant _I got you’s_ that mean nothing, that would eventually cause this moment to lose itself to time.  
  
Jason opens his mouth to start the joke.  
  
He kisses Tim instead.   
  
Stars fall against the sea, brilliant flashes of light drowning under dark and thrashing tides. It’s consuming; a deafening roar of crashing waves and burning fingers - Jason realizes, a bit late, that Tim’s gripping his wrists so tight that his fingers are beginning to go numb.  
  
 _Stupid.  
  
Bad idea._  
  
The thoughts come tumbling, because this is wrong, all wrong; Tim is supposed to _be_ something, there’s more to his life than sidewalk kisses on frosted nights, neither of them flinching when they hear a siren in the distance, like they have bigger problems, like _whose apartment is closest?_

Tim pulls back, dragging in breaths like he’s forgotten how to breathe, lips redder than Jason remembers them being before.  
  
“I like you.” Tim states again and he’s waiting for something - his eyes are searching, drifting back and forth between Jason’s.  
  
“You said that,” Jason replies, and his lungs feel tight, like he’s missed something; he doesn’t know what so he simply lowers his head and takes Tim’s lips again, chaste, breathing in every one of Tim’s exhales because there’s something exhilarating about sharing the same air. Besides, what else can he give? He’s only got this one life, this one body, these firefly moments of flickering light in shadow, where he imagines he’s a flame that could consume everything around him.  
  
Tim’s too good to burn like that but he catches fire anyway, and Jason discovers that they’re both stumbling, sneakers tripping over sneakers, fumbling into a darker place - and somehow that’s enough, and Jason knows what Tim was looking for.  
  
“I like you too,” he spills against Tim’s mouth and feels Tim tense - thinks for a moment he’s said something wrong, but even in this light Tim’s eyes are something else - they’re wide, heavy with emotion that Jason thinks might be enough to anchor them both. Then they’re both sinking and Tim’s fingers dip into the space between Jason’s waistband and his skin, and it’s _damn cold_ and Jason hisses.  
  
“You and your damn belts,” Tim says, like it’s a crime. As if Tim, in his obnoxious sweater sporting Darth Vader and the words _Who’s your daddy?_ painted precariously below, isn’t _worse._

“Maybe,” Jason has a hard time speaking. There’s something unbelievably disarming about Tim having risen to the tips of his toes just to nip at his neck - but it’s worse that this is _not_ what he wants, not here, not where he probably killed a guy two weeks ago. “Maybe we should go someplace -”  
  
“Huh-uh,” Tim argues, belabored. He’s shaking his head, peeling Jason’s jacket back in order to place hasty kisses against his undershirt, hot puffs of air against cool cotton. “You’ll change your mind.”  
  
Jason almost feels offended. “I will not.”  
  
“You will,” Tim throws back, sounding sure. He sounds upset when he says, “You’ve got that look.”  
  
Jason gasps when Tim’s hand sinks lower and his hips jerk - he finds himself shifting to grasp Tim’s arm, to pause things for the moment.   
  
“What look?” he asks, “A look that says _Timothy Jackson Drake is trying to -”  
_

“Like you’re trying to figure out if this is okay.”  
  
“Well, we _are_ in an alley -”  
  
“ _If it’s okay that you like me_ ,” Tim burns out, panting. His eyes come alive in the dark, Jason notices, and his stare is a blade pinning him to the wall.  
  
“Stop thinking,” Tim tells him, and then adds, more seriously, “I like you. If you like me, then do something about it.”  
  
It’s a challenge. Jason hates that Tim can do that - can see through him, read him better than anyone else.  
  
“Right,” is all he can manage. Vaguely, he thinks, _maybe I don’t need caffeine either_ , because his entire body is on fire, lit at the fingertips with some unnameable emotion.  
  
Somehow, he realizes, Tim has always kept him awake.


End file.
